“Now, my dear son,” said the abbot, “retire
to our chamberlain. Cast off these poor weeds,
and take from him aught in his presses that befits
thy dignity, and then return to us, that we may see
our vicomte’s nephew in his bravery.”

With a courtly bow I left them.

Now, the abbot’s chamberlain found me a fair
good suit, more courtly than I had ever worn, and
I scarce knew myself in the glory of its rich, dyed
cloth. Fair linen next my skin, fit for an abbot’s
wear, a long blue tunic broidered with gold, and a
trim girdle, a grand surcoat of damask, and a gay
red cloak over all, with an emerald brooch on my right
shoulder. With bright stockings and a little ribboned
hat I was no longer Nigel the scholar of the Vale,
but Nigel de Bessin, gentleman and courtly soldier.

So drest and refreshed with food, I returned to my
lord’s chamber, where at mine uncle’s
footstool I heard these noble lords and churchmen speak
of the circle of events from England to Italy, and
through all their words the one great name of William
seemed to be present as the centre of their surmisings.
So deep had this son of Rollo stamped himself in the
life of those rare days.

“Strange news from England, this,” said
one, “now that the Atheling is dead. We
can guess of a truth whom the royal priest will light
upon, as he grows near his end.”

“He loves not Godwin’s brood,” said
another.

“Then the prophecy that set Henry of France
afire will yet be true in another way. William
shall reign in London, not in Paris,” said Lanfranc.

“And thou at Canterbury, good brother,”
said the abbot.

And, indeed, ere many years this came to pass.

CHAPTER XIV.

How, being given letters to Duke William by the Abbots of St.
Michael and of Bec, I set out for Coutances, and of what befell me
on my way.

“Sit down and take thy pen, good Nigel,”
said the abbot next morning; “this Lanfranc
shall dictate thee thine epistle.”

I sat down by the abbot’s writing-horn, and
wrote somewhat as follows, while the two great men
put their wise heads together. After customary
salutation, the letter ran—­

“We send the bearer with news
of grave moment to thee and thy rule. A Sarrasin
pirate even now lords it in Guernsey, and kills very
many of thy lieges. Moreover, his force grows
daily to a greater height. There hath joined
him Maugher, once archbishop.

“Thou wilt know how
best to protect thine honour. The bearer hath
for his years done wondrous
chivalrously in this enterprise.
Delay not, duke, to hear him.”

Such was the letter that I bore, signed with the names
of the two abbots. Now I had great joy in having
the great Lanfranc’s countenance, for all men
knew William loved him, since, after his first disgrace
for his sharp rebuke of William’s marriage,
he met him fearlessly, and with cool laughter and
wise words brought him into still closer union than
ever he had been before. So I knew my letter would
have weight.